Page 15 of His to Enjoy
The pink baby doll had ridden up during sleep, bunched around my waist, and the delicate panties felt damp against my skin. Had I been dreaming? I couldn’t remember, but my body seemed to have continued its betrayal even in unconsciousness.
I sat up slowly, acutely aware that cameras were recording my every movement. Did Scott review the overnight footage? The thought of him watching me sleep in this ridiculous nightgown, perhaps shifting restlessly as my body processed yesterday’s overwhelming events, made my belly lurch with that now-familiar mixture of shame and arousal.
I padded to the closet on bare feet, the baby doll swishing against my thighs. Inside, a new garment bag hung on the back of the door. My hands trembled slightly as I unzipped it.
A blue lingerie set, delicate as butterfly wings—a demi-cup bra that would barely contain me, matching panties with tiny bows at the hips, and a garter belt with nude stockings. Over this, afloral dress in soft pastels that looked innocent enough, but was clearly chosen to emphasize the contrast with what lay beneath. The dress was shorter than anything I would have chosen myself, hitting just above my knees, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that would move with every step.
I noticed immediately what was missing from my new wardrobe. No business suits like the ones Sharon wore, no professional blazers or sensible slacks. Everything was dresses—soft, feminine, subtly evoking my New Modesty origins. The message was clear: I wasn’t being groomed to be a corporate executive. I was being positioned as something else entirely.
The thought should have angered me. Instead, I felt that treacherous flutter in my insides as I began to dress.
The blue lingerie felt like sin against my skin. The bra pushed my breasts up and together, creating cleavage I’d never had in my modest cotton undergarments. The panties sat low on my hips, the delicate fabric doing nothing to contain the heat already building between my legs. The garter belt and stockings transformed my legs, making them look longer, more elegant. More available.
I pulled the floral dress over my head, smoothing it down over the lingerie. The contrast between the innocent exterior and what lay beneath made my cheeks burn. In the kitchen, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the carefully portioned dinner Scott had sent.
The refrigerator door’s display, a sleek digital interface, lit up as I approached. When I opened it, I found an array of prepared breakfast items—overnight oats with fresh berries, hard-boiled eggs, Greek yogurt parfaits, whole grain muffins. Everything was labeled with precise calorie counts.
As I reached for the yogurt parfait and a muffin, the display registered my selections with soft beeps. “387 calories selected,” it announced in a pleasant feminine voice. “Recommended daily intake for optimal BMI maintenance: 1,450 calories. Remaining: 1,063.”
My face flushed. Even my eating was being monitored, calculated, controlled. I took my breakfast to the small dining table, trying not to think about how the system must be tracking everything—not just what I ate, but when, how much, how often.
The food was exquisite. The yogurt was thick and creamy, layered with honey and granola that crunched perfectly. The muffin was studded with fresh blueberries, moist and just sweet enough. Everything tasted expensive, carefully crafted. Another reminder that Selecta controlled even the smallest details of my life now.
I was just finishing the last bite when a chiming alarm pierced the quiet morning air. My handheld lit up with an alert:Shuttle arriving in five minutes. Please proceed to lobby.
CHAPTER 8
Grace
Five minutes? My heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled to my feet, nearly knocking over my water glass. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet. Racing to the bathroom, I brushed quickly, applied a touch of the makeup I found in the vanity drawer—just mascara and lip gloss, nothing that would suggest I was trying too hard.
I grabbed my handheld and practically ran to the elevator, my heels clicking against the hallway floor. The stockings whispered against each other with each hurried step, reminding me constantly of what I wore beneath the innocent dress. The elevator seemed to take forever, and I watched the seconds tick by on my phone. Three minutes. Two minutes.
I burst through the lobby doors just as the sleek black shuttle pulled up to the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man in a Selecta uniform, didn’t even glance at me as I climbed aboard, slightly out of breath. There were already several other passengers—allwomen, I noticed, all young, all dressed in similarly feminine attire that somehow suggested we were in the same position.
One of them, a redhead in a yellow sundress, gave me a knowing look as I settled into a seat. She didn’t say anything, but something in her expression suggested she understood exactly what my morning had been like. The monitoring, the careful orchestration of every detail. We rode in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, as the shuttle wound through the morning traffic toward Selecta headquarters.
The building loomed ahead, all glass and steel reaching toward the clouded sky. My tummy churned with nervous energy as we pulled into the underground parking garage. The other women filed out ahead of me, dispersing toward different elevators with practiced ease. I followed the signs to the main bank, my fingers trembling as I pressed the button for the twentieth floor.
The elevator was crowded with morning commuters, men in expensive suits who barely glanced at me, women in sharp business attire who made my floral dress feel even more out of place. When the doors opened on twenty, I stepped out on legs that felt like water.
Scott’s office door stood at the end of the hall, that same gold nameplate gleaming in the morning light. I knocked softly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Come in.”
His voice sent an immediate shiver through me. I pushed open the door to find him standing by the windows, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the city below. He didn’t turn immediately, letting me stand there in the doorway, waiting.
“Close the door, Grace.”
I obeyed, the soft click of the latch seeming to echo in the spacious office. Only then did he turn, his eyes conducting a slow, thorough examination that made my skin prickle with heat.
“Good morning, Grace.” His tone was businesslike, professional, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. As if I hadn’t knelt between his legs, hadn’t writhed over his lap while his fingers… I forced the memory away, trying to focus. “You look appropriate today. Floral suits you.”
“Thank you, sir.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
He moved to his desk, gesturing for me to take the chair across from him. I sat carefully, aware of how the dress rode up slightly, how the stockings pulled against the garter clips.
“As you’ve probably gathered, I’ve decided to offer you the internship position,” he said, pulling a folder from his drawer. “Your basic duties will be standard—data entry, filing, answering phones, fetching coffee. The usual intern responsibilities.”
